


tilt your head up towards the sky

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, all of this is alexander, alone in his sad thoughts, goshdarn hurricanes and storms, so i know i tagged fifty billion characters but they're honestly only mentioned in this, sorrrrtttt of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 09:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11310954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Alexander tries not to think about the rain, or the hurricane, or Nevis. Somehow, it becomes all he ever thinks about anyway.





	tilt your head up towards the sky

**Author's Note:**

> see if you can catch the many references i sprinkled in from hamilton's actual letter about the hurricane.

It’s hard to believe that Alexander Hamilton loved the rain once.

He’d recall his childhood sometimes, whisper the details in rapid succession if only to remind the world that there was a time before Alexander Hamilton: the trademark bastard, orphan, son of a whore. There was a time, yes, a brief second in his millennia life, where he danced on the Queen of the Caribbees and joined trivial competitions with James in front of his mother’s store in Christiansted. When Alexander remembers, it almost feels like a dream. Everything was so vivid then, even against the gray poverty they lived in and the muddy struggles within his family.

He doesn’t miss Nevis, but he misses the memories he made there.

Okay, let’s face it: it’s the Caribbean. Islands scattered like jewels in the sea, pretty and profitable in the eyes of the greedy white man. The weather is a comforting constant that wavers between a lemon yellow warmth and red devil hot, but it _rains_. It rains a lot, and it certainly counters the more desirable sunny days they get every other month of the year.

The rain, as Alexander once thought of it long ago, was like a lullaby. _The sea’s singing, Alex_ , Mama would say while she stroked his back and looked wistfully out their window. _It’s singing just for you._ When he was younger—when he had a far better sleep schedule—the rain would set a steady rhythm for him to write words in his head, new vocabulary that he picked up in daylight, until Alexander eventually nodded off and slept to the sounds of a storm.

There is beauty in his childhood home, Alexander admits. In the way James would sometimes let him choose what games to play or the way his mother would scoop him up and embrace him in her arms. Still, though it was God in whom he trusted, the divine could cruel in some ways.

Alexander loved the rain once. There are times where he wished he still did, as to not burden those around him.

Lafayette and Hercules and his dear Laurens and his wonderful Betsey would claim that it’s not his fault. That it couldn’t be, that it would never be, that it never was. Alexander can’t help but narrow his eyes when they say this—he loves them, he loves his friends, but they didn’t know what it felt like being subjected to ruin and confusion around you. A barbed wire fence that prevented even the faintest inkling of escape.

Is it weird to be jealous of a simple, cliché phrase? Because Alexander is. _The eye of the storm_ , he seethes, eyes and mind reminiscent of that goddamn hurricane. The phrase refers to the center of a cyclone where the zephyrs hop like baby frogs and the skies are clearer than rare crystal—only to be surrounded by an eyewall.

They never tell you this in class, but that's where Hell is located. Just outside a gated paradise.

It’s completely unfair that there’s twenty to forty miles in diameter in the middle of a hurricane that’s near completely free of the wrath of God while the rest is a glorious expanse of rageful destruction. Why couldn’t he have been there, in the center of a shitstorm that was entirely ignored? Why was he denied the chance to be safe and instead faced with the shared horror of countless men, women, and children that he too held close to his chest?

Why do people misuse _the eye of the storm_ , thinking that it meant the epicenter of an absolute nightmare when truly it meant a situation that Alexander would have honest-to-God **died** for.

Ignore the irony, even for just a moment; Alexander isn’t gonna take your crap.

Still, it ruins him now. He’s in America, in New York (sometimes he can’t believe it either), and he gets so caught up in his new success that he forgets that it _rains_ . He remembered rain in that hurricane, a soothing prelude to eventual disaster, and Alexander buries his head between his legs and panics. He panics, he panics, he _panics_ , and for a second he’s back in St. Croix. Nevis. Queen of the Caribbees.

What was it like, your Majesty, being dethroned by fiery meteors and perpetual lightning and the heavenly fellowship of Angels and Seraphs?

The difference between the rain of the goddamn hurricane and the rain of New York is something to take note of, maybe. Alexander recalls it being salt back then, especially when he turned his face up towards the heaven in search of an answer why. Here, the rain has the distinct taste of smoke and industry. Progression. Minds at work. Both are pretty shitty, to be honest. He doesn’t know why he bothers to pay attention to stuff like that.

Alexander loved the rain once, that’s true, but it wasn’t like he ever became frightened at the thought of precipitation after St. Croix. It was more like he got tense for what was to come. The hurricane back then started with rain, and to think that he had initially closed his eyes that day just to better feel the wet kisses from clouds. He didn’t hate the rain. There were too many memories, and Alexander couldn’t bear to.

The rain was once a friend that betrayed him during the goddamn hurricane, so here was Alexander years later, bringing up memories from when he opened his mouth towards the sky just to get a drink. When he sat with James on the front porch of their little house and watched it splatter on the ground. When his mother looked wistfully out the window, hoping for love. He felt like an old man wishing for his childhood again, which was a description not too far off.

It’s drizzling now in New York, droplets pattering softly on Alexander’s coat like paws on hardwood flooring. He closes his eyes and tilts his head up towards the sky.

Alexander Hamilton once loved the rain with an innocent awe only a child could muster—used to kneel at the mattress he shared with Mama and James and pray for even a little mist. Used to love Nevis, Queen of the Caribbees, one of the many jewels of the sea.

There are times where he wonders what it’d be like to love the rain again.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first fic i've ever written for any fandom, so apologies if it feels short (at least to me lol) and if it seems a little off <3 i'm not used to writing so much, especially in story format with a plot and everything, which is why this doesn't necessarily have a big plot line. apologies for any tense errors too haha
> 
> despite all that, i'm very proud of this fic and would love any type of feedback!


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